


Jasmine

by discerningthepolarity



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Comfort, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Protective, Vietnam War, friends comforting friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27402868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discerningthepolarity/pseuds/discerningthepolarity
Summary: Set sometime after Season 3 Episode 3, South China Sea.It isn't only Elizabeth who can suffer flashbacks…and some are more violent than others.
Relationships: Conrad Dalton & Elizabeth McCord, Elizabeth McCord & Blake Moran, Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 22
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Madam Secretary or any of the characters.

Chapter 1

It started with jasmine perfume. 

Elizabeth wasn't expecting it, and honestly, she had almost forgotten the memory that the president had shared with her in Vietnam all those weeks ago. It was now about a month after said trip and she was attending yet another state dinner. 

With a diplomat’s smile firmly fixed on her face and counting down the minutes until she could leave, she started to mingle. After one circuit around the ballroom, she looked for her staff, who were never far from her. Elizabeth had to hold back a snort as she watched a Moldovan aide try and fail to flirt with Blake — whose attention was firmly fixed on her. 

"Hey, Blake," she called. She watched him trip over himself in his eagerness to get away from the overbearing woman.

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"It looked like you could use a save just then." 

She watched as Blake tried and failed to hide his amusement and relief and he responded dryly, 

"Well, I serve at the pleasure, ma'am." 

Not even bothering to hide her smirk, she said, "Why don't you go find Daisy, and I will go say my goodbyes with the president and we'll go?"

She watched Blake nod his head and walk in the direction they last saw her press secretary. 

Elizabeth started to crane her neck to find the man in question when she spotted him talking with the Moldovan prime minister and his wife. She started walking towards them when she noticed the look on the Presidents's face and his posture. It was incredibly well hidden, but knowing him for over twenty years had afforded her knowledge few others besides his wife were privilege to: how to read his body language. 

Conrad's body was stiff, and as she got closer she saw that he had a death grip on his champagne glass. His face was set in a mask of pleasant engagement towards the foreign head of state, but it was the slight clenching of his jaw and the slightly too fast blinking that gave away his anxiousness.

She didn't dare touch him, but she made herself known by way of greeting.

"Mr. Prime Minister, Mrs. Agapov, I hope the weather hasn't ruined your trip?"

The trio turned towards her and all but the President flashed her with a happy smile – his was more of a grimace. 

She was told,” please, call me Maria,” and as she let the prime minister’s wife assure her the rainy and humid conditions of DC wasn't an impediment – and did she know how lovely the decorations were - she subtly maneuvered herself closer to Conrad. As she got closer to Mrs. Agapov, she was almost overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume. She couldn't quite place it. So when the conversation hit its natural pause, she interjected with, 

"You smell lovely, Maria. What fragrance are you wearing?"

"Oh, this wonderful Jasmine perfume that I found one day back in Moldova. It's been my favorite ever since, and I try to always wear it to events like these. Would you like the information?"

The combination of humidity and jasmine set off a niggling thought in the back of her mind, and before she could really think about it, Elizabeth found herself saying, "That would be wonderful, but I actually came over to steal the President for a few moments. You know how these things tend to go," throwing the last comment towards the up-until-now silent prime minister. 

The prime minister inclined his head and said, "I do know. Go, Mr. President. I shall not keep you."

The two men shook hands, and Elizabeth started walking towards the exit with Conrad a step behind her. As she neared the exit of the ballroom, she took the president’s champagne glass and set both of theirs on the tray of a passing waiter. It was as they passed the threshold of the ballroom and headed out in the hallway that he broke his silence.

"What's this about, Bess?"

She considered answering but thought it was safer to wait until they reached the oval office, so she said, "Just a minute," and gestured for him to keep up.

With the route they were taking, a shortcut through the rose garden, it wasn't a long walk from the ballroom to the Oval Office. She thought maybe the path they were taking was a mistake when the thick humidity of the night's air hit them, and she saw Conrad’s breath quicken ever so slightly. 

The minute the two of them stepped in the office, and the president closed the door, he rounded on her.

"Now, what was so important that you had to pull me away? Where's Russell?"

Elizabeth sighed.

"No, sir nothing important. You just looked incredibly tense in the ballroom, and I thought you could use a small break. Was I wrong?" 

She watched his face go through a range of emotions – angry, sad, anxious, back to angry, and then finally settled on resigned. He walked towards the cabinet that held the whisky, grabbed two glasses, and started to pour. 

"No Bess, you were not wrong. I don't know what came over me, but all of a sudden I could've sworn I was back in Vietnam. You know, I think – " 

He never finished his sentence, because at that moment the door to the Oval Office swung open to reveal an incredibly pissed off Russel Jackson, who slammed the door behind him. 

It was too much. The humidity, the smell of jasmine, and the slamming of the door, it all culminated into what was playing out in front of her. The President of the United States first flashback in over 30 years.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Elizabeth didn't think that Russell saw the change in both the President's demeanor or the distant look in his eyes, otherwise, she was sure he wouldn't have started yelling at her. 

Standing between the two men, she tried to keep them both in her sight. Conrad was staring past her, through her, shaking. He was mumbling something under his breath but she wasn't close enough to hear what it was. Russell on the other hand was advancing towards her, arm outstretched, jabbing at her with an accusing finger. He was also yelling. 

"What the hell Bess?!" Russell shouted. He was starting to close in on her, but Conrad was still shaking. 

He was 15 feet from her and closing. 

"Russell - " she tried. 

"We've talked about this!" The president's eyes were still unfocused but he seemed to be staring directly at Russell. 

10 feet.

"I - " 

"You don't just abscond with the President whenever you feel like it!" She had never seen Conrad Dalton look so afraid before. 

7 feet.

"Would you just - " 

"He has donors to talk to for god sake." She watched as the Presidents body stopped shaking and straighten up, his face going blank. His eyes were still distant. 

5 feet.

"This election - " She wouldn't have seen the President start to move if she hadn't been switching her attention between him and Russell. Whatever the President was seeing, he had apparently decided enough was enough. 

Russell was almost toe to toe with her when Conrad quickly moved towards them with an expression of fury she'd never seen before. What had finally gotten Russell to stop talking was what he did next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and implied sexual assault that is found in the Vietnam War. If that is a trigger for anyone, please skip this chapter. This is my attempt to explain what is going on in Conrad Dalton's head.

Conrad POV

Lt. Conrad Dalton knew he was in deep shit. He didn't know precisely where he was, but he knew he was in some village in Vietnam. He was supposed to be on a routine patrol with 4 members of his unit. As a Lieutenant, he didn't have to be doing these night-time jaunts, but he believed in leading by example, and oh was he regretting it right now.

It was quiet, or as quiet as a jungle could be with sounds of chittering monkeys and the buzz of mosquitos. The swarms of mosquitoes and the oppressive heat coupled with the humidity was slowly driving him insane. One minute he was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and the next the darkness of the night exploded in bright light and fire.

The explosion was so sudden he didn't even know he was unconscious until he found himself jerking awake. He was facedown in the mud, he was dizzy, and he couldn't hear past the loud ringing in his ears. He groaned and rolled to his side so he wasn't breathing in mud, when he could distantly hear voices coming closer. He was relieved, for he thought it was a squad of marines coming to their aid.

He squinted, and in the light of the fire he saw 3 people coming towards them. He was about to call for help when the voices registered and he realized those people weren't speaking English. They were speaking Vietnamese. His relief turned to panic. He made his body go slack and he kept his eyes squinted. He knew he couldn't outrun them and he didn't know how many other Viet Cong soldiers were hiding in the woods. Conrad hoped they saw their bodies and walked away. He hoped that the body shaped lumps on the ground were not dead, but pretending like him.

His hopes were dashed when the foreign soldiers started putting bullets in the body that was closest to them. The body that was less than 30 feet from his face. Conrad Dalton did not want to die. He had his life ahead of him, whatever that would be. He wanted a wife. He wanted a career beyond this thrice-damned war. Hell, he would even become President of the United States if it meant he left this blasted place alive. He was certain anything he could do would be a thousand times better than Lyndon B. Johnson.

Dalton knew he had one chance to make a run for it. He was already on his side, so he slowly bent his right leg and moved it parallel to his chest. That action took him nearly 10 minutes to complete without drawing notice to himself. It seemed that the Viet Cong soldiers were in no hurry to check on the remaining American soldiers. In fact, they seemed quite content to kick the body of the man they just shot and shout in excitement in their harsh native tongue.

He felt sick.

With their attention firmly on the corpse of one of his men, he planted his right foot in the ground. With his heart in his throat, he chanced moving his head to see if the other three men were moving. His breath caught when he saw a pair of bright green eyes staring at him from the darkness. Those eyes could only belong to one man from his unit, Harry "Reno" Reynolds. Reno had his hand in front of his face and once he saw he had Conrad's attention started slowly putting a finger down. It took him a moment but he realized he was counting down. The countdown was interrupted by another burst of gunfire, and a furtive glance told him the Viet Cong soldiers had moved on.

Time was running out. Risking it, Conrad moved his hand to point to the jungle that was in front of both of them. Locking eyes, Reno nodded his assent and continued his countdown.

4.

3.

2.

1.

As the final finger went down, both men sprang to their feet and dashed for the jungle. They both went crashing into the trees, their muscles aching from the explosion, legs numb from misuse. They both made it another 10 steps when shouts and gunfire sounded. 

And they ran. Bullets whizzing past their ears, feet pounding behind them.

He was so focused on outrunning the enemy soldiers behind him that he almost missed it when Reno collapsed to the floor. Almost. Conrad immediately backtracked to put him back on his feet, but the enemy was closing in and Reno… Reno had been shot in the back.

He wouldn't be able to outrun Viet Cong soldiers while carrying 200 pounds on his back, and they both knew it. Dalton didn't know what to do, what decision to make. In the end, Reno made it for him.

"Leave me Dalton, we both can't make it! Run!"

He hesitated.

"For fucks sake, RUN!"

So he ran.

He ran blindly into the surrounding jungle.

He continued running even as the sounds of Reno's screams rent the air.

Through the mud, the pain, and through the tears, Conrad kept running.

Even when the screams were cut off by gunshots.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He didn't stop running until he made it to a village. He had no idea how long, or how far he'd gone from base, but he was sure there were no villages near their camp. Pausing in the tree line, he tried to catch his breath and slow the racing of his heart.

It was still the middle of the night, but the light from the fires in the middle of the village gave him the ability to see his surroundings. The village looked like it had seen better days, with dilapidated and burnt out huts. He would have said it was abandoned if it weren't for the carefully maintained fires.

But, he was tired. And in pain. So with stealth he didn't even know he had, he carefully made his way over to the burned hut closest to him. He saw there was no door, just a gaping hole where it should have been. He paused to listen. After no sounds came from the hut for close to 5 minutes, he made his way towards it. He paused at the doorway and turned into it sharply.

It was empty.

Moving away from the door towards the far end of the hut, Conrad sank to his knees and used his hands to test out the sturdiness of the walls. Finding that it wouldn't be knocked over if he so much as looked at it wrong, he curled up with his back to the wall and fell into a restless sleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He awoke with a start. It was dark, and at first, he didn't remember where he was, or how he got there. Then he tried to sit up. His entire body _hurt_ ** _,_** the injuries he must have sustained from the explosion making themselves known. Conrad stopped trying to sit up and took stock of both his body and his surroundings. All of his muscles must have seized up while he slept because trying to move even his fingers hurt. What hurt the most, however, was his chest. Probably due to him facing the blast when it happened. It hurt to _breathe_ so he figured at least a couple of his ribs were broken.

But… he was alive and with sufficient motivation (like not being captured) he was sure he would be able to move.

Now to the other pressing matter, what woke him up? Biting his lip, he braced himself with his left hand and hauled his body into a sitting position. He had to swallow a moan of pain, but he sat up against the wall and tried to listen.

It was the sound of people, and when he listened closer he recognized the language as Vietnamese…he just couldn't catch a break, could he? He felt the beginnings of adrenaline start running through his veins, and it helped clear his fuzzy thoughts. He needed to think about what to do next. He was hyping himself up to run for the trees when he realized that the voices weren't stopping, in fact, they walked right past the hut he was in, laughing uproariously. His hands were shaking, but he settled himself back against the wall.

He didn't know why they didn't check the hut and he didn't care, but he was willing to stay right there for as long as it took for them to leave. Preferably in the morning. And he was going to do just that until he heard a third voice.

One that belonged to a woman.

He didn't understand what she was saying but some things were universal.

She sounded **terrified**.

Conrad was many things, but he wasn't an abuser. He didn't approve of some of the things other American soldiers bragged about, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. Even as a Lieutenant. He did what he could, punished those under his command, but it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Conrad hauled himself onto his knees and looked out the huts only window. The woman was on her knees like him, and she was pleading. That was evident by the tear tracks that were highlighted by the firelight, the way her voice cracked, and by the way the two men just laughed. The woman said something, something the men didn't like because he struck her across the face so hard she fell to the floor.

One of the men grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to her feet. She could barely stand but they made her anyway. She was sobbing, pleading. He turned away from the window as the other man pulled out a knife. He didn't need to see that.

In the relative silence, the sound of clothes tearing was unmistakable, and he turned back towards the window so quickly he couldn't suppress the cry of pain that escaped his throat. Not that the men would have noticed. They were too excited by the breasts that were exposed when they ripped open that woman's shirt with the knife.

The men didn't notice.

But she did, and she was staring right at _him_.

He quickly ducked out of the window, not even noticing the pain because of the adrenalin rush caused by him being seen. She was going to tell those men about him, and they would come and kill him. He had never been more painfully aware of his lack of weapons' than at that moment.

But she never did.

In fact, she had stopped making any noise at all. The only noises were the pleased exclamations and the commentary of the two men assaulting her. With an unpleasant jolt, he realized that she hadn’t given him up. She was going to let those two men do god knows what to her instead of giving him up. He couldn't fathom as to _why._ The women of this country were losing so much, not just by the Viet Cong but by the American soldiers as well.

How could she know he was a good one?

A friendly one?

All of those thoughts passed through his head at lightening speed. He couldn't just sit there and let this happen. If she was trying to protect him, then he was sure as hell going to try and help her.

Conrad Dalton stood.

His 6'1" frame standing tall, not a hint of pain, not a hint of anxiety. His hands were as steady as a rock.

He would help that woman, so help him god.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Elizabeth felt his fingers wrap around her arms with a bruising grip, but surprise had only seconds to set in before she was sent hurtling backward into the President's drink cart. The force of her body hitting the cart sent it tipping to the floor alongside her, the glasses shattering on impact. 

She was on the floor.

Her ears were ringing.

She was in Iran. 

She had to get to Ab--No.

She was in the White House. What was she doin-- the jasmine perfume.

She needed to focus. Elizabeth managed to shove her own panic into a tiny box, only to look up and see the President of the United States standing over her with a murderous expression on his face. Later she would deny it, swear up and down it didn't happen, but right at this moment, a shiver of fear raced up her spine. So caught up in the impromptu staring contest, she didn't notice the Secret Service or her own Diplomatic Security agents burst into the room. 

The staring contest was cut off abruptly when two agents grabbed the President from behind and forced him away from her. She recognized the agents as Matt and Frank, and as she started to yell at them to let him go, two Secret Service agents joined them. The President was fighting like mad, trying to get away from the agents, but the combined force of all four had him pinned to the floor. Ignoring the sharp pain of glass cutting into her hands, she started to crawl over to her long time friend. Her progress was cut short, however, when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her backwards, away from the President. 

Flailing and struggling to get away, she managed to twist around to figure out who was holding her. It was Blake, and he looked pissed. Righteous fury at the interruption filled her, and she had enough; she decided it was getting too far out of hand. Putting her thumb and pointer finger of her right hand into her mouth, she let out a piercing whistle. Everyone in the room froze; the four agents, Russell, Blake, and even the President. The sounds of shouting and struggling ceased and it plunged the room into an oppressive silence as every man in the room stared at her. 

She looked directly at Conrad and saw that all the fight had left him; he was lying on the floor as still as stone. He looked extremely confused and now, more than a little panicked. She took this all in during the few seconds of silence that followed her whistle and she spoke.

"Blake, let me go! Matt, Frank, Agents let go of Conrad. Everyone who is not the President, leave the room!" When she saw that the men in the room didn't immediately follow her orders she barked, "NOW!"

The DS and SS agents released the President and after exchanging a look, left the room. Blake slowly let go of her and backed only an arm's length away. When she saw that Russell and Blake made no move to actually leave she crossed her arms, raised her eyebrow, and said angrily "I thought I was pretty clear that you two were to leave." 

Russell opened his mouth to say something but Blake beat him to it, "Due respect ma'am, but not a chance in hell." 

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open, aghast, and ready to protest, but when she saw Russell nod in agreement she huffed and just told them to stay out of her way instead. 

Turning her attention to the President, she saw that he was lifting himself into a seated position, putting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. He looked lost and utterly confused.

The first step she took toward her friend almost caused her to buckle to the floor, and she couldn't stop the gasp of pain escaping her lips. Blake was at her side in a flash, grabbing on to her elbow to steady her as Conrad's head snapped up to look at her with a growing expression of horror. She grimaced, it seemed that at some point in the chaos she had twisted her ankle. 

She patted Blake on the arm. "It's alright, I've got it now." 

"Ma'am?" he replied worriedly. 

"It's okay, please let me go." 

During the exchange, Conrad had gotten to his feet and was trying to walk over to her, but Russell stood in his way with a hand to the taller man's chest. "Mr. President, I know you want to check on her but right now I think it's best you stay right here."

Instead of protesting like she thought he would, Conrad looked at her with an expression of such remorse as he spoke softly, "I did that to you, didn't I? I - I don't remember, I'm so confused b-but.." he trailed off and broke eye contact with her, looking down at his hands.

Forcefully removing Blake's hand, and ignoring the growing ache from her ankle, she strode across the room. Russell had turned to look at her as well and tried to stop her, but she put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him sideways. Ignoring everyone in the room except her target, she forcefully grabbed the President, no _Conrad's_ , chin, and forced him to look at her. His blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears, and that, coupled with the broken expression on his face, caused her heart to break.

"Conrad, look at me. What happened?"

He tried to move away but she held firm and repeated herself, this time softer.

"What happened?"

"I- I was pouring us some whisky. A-and then I was back in Vietnam a-and it was so… so _real_. The next thing I knew I was on the floor and I couldn't move and-"

Before he could spiral himself into another panic attack, she removed her hand from his chin and put her hands on both sides of his head, "Conrad you had a flashback. You weren't yourself. Whatever happened while you were unaware is not your fault. Do you hear that? It's not your fault."

He moved away from her hands and with some steel in his voice said, "But Bess I _hurt_ you. I -"

She cut him off, equally as sharp, "Conrad. Joseph. Dalton. It is **not** your fault." Softer she added, " I don't blame you."

He looked taken aback by the use of his full name, but his lips twitched into a barely-there smile. He still looked lost, and a little broken and Elizabeth couldn't stand to see such a strong man, her friend, look like that, so she opened her arms and went in for a hug.

It seemed that this was what Conrad was waiting for because as soon as her arms started wrapping around his body, she found herself pressed tightly against his chest, with one arm snaked around her back and the other holding her head in the crook of his neck. It wasn't comfortable but before she could move, his body started to shake. 

She felt him drop his head into the crook of her neck and felt, more than heard, him take a rattling breath. She ignored her discomfort and hugged him back just as tight. She felt his tears. He didn't sob, but he continued to hold on to her tightly and cry into her neck. The only outwards signs of his distress being his soft gasps and shaking body. She just continued to hold him, whispering soothing nonsense in the hopes that it would comfort him, and herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was an indeterminable time later, but Elizabeth was broken out of their reverie with a soft, "Ma'am?"

She made as if to turn her head towards her assistant when Conrad tightened his hold on her, almost reflexively. So instead of moving, she asked, "What is it, Blake?"

"We've called for the White House doctor. If we can move to Mr. Jackson's office, they can start to clean up here and we get you looked at?" 

It was supposed to be a statement, but it sounded more like a question to her. She knew that Blake was well aware of her aversion to doctors. She was fine. All she needed was to go home, take a bath, curl into her husband's side, and forget this night.

_Oh._

_Bless you, Blake._

Sometimes her assistant knew her better than she knew herself, and because of this, she should have expected him to find a reason to get Conrad to let her go. 

Holding in her sigh of relief at her impending departure she said, "Okay, Blake. Please make sure the hallway is clear?"

She heard Blake make a noise that sounded like surprise before she heard him sound almost eager to do her bidding, "Right away, Ma'am."

Turning her focus back to her friend, she rubbed his back like she would for one of her children and questioned, “Conrad? Did you hear what Blake said?” 

She felt him nod against her neck but he made no motion to move. Letting out an amused huff she said, “Conrad, to move you need to let me go.” 

She felt him stiffen but after a minute, she felt him loosen his grip on her, so she moved backward out of his reach. She winced in pain at the weight she put on her ankle but managed to hide it before Conrad straightened up to look at her. He wiped and then scrubbed at his face to try and hide the evidence of his tears, and then looked at her with a wobbly smile. "So, to Russell's office then?" 

A brief moment of panic raced through her, if he followed she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Some of that must have shown on her face because the President looked startled at her reaction. 

Before she could speak Russel interjected, "Actually, Mr. President I have orders to bring you to the residence."

Both she and the President jumped because they had thought they were alone. The President scowled, "Who ordered that?"

"Your wife, Mr. President."

Conrad's face cleared but it soon filled with apprehension. "She knows what happened? S-she still wants me to.." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. 

Russell looked gobsmacked, he literally didn't know how to reply to that, but she did.

"Conrad. Lydia loves you. She has been your wife for over 20 years, she has seen you at your best and at your worst. She knows you. She knows you would never intentionally hurt her. I'm one of your best friends and I don't blame you for this, what makes you think she would?" He still looked visibly hesitant so she added, "I'll be fine Conrad. Go see Lydia, I know you want her right now." 

He swallowed, nodded, and softly said, "Thanks, Bess. I- I'll go do that." He reached out, and when he saw she didn't flinch away, squeezed her elbow, gave her one last small smile, and followed Russell to the residence. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth limped towards the door that opened out into the hallway where Blake and her security were standing. Her ankle was now throbbing, and she knew without looking at it that her strappy heels were making the situation worse. Now that she didn't have to put up a front for the President, the tiny box she shoved her emotions into started to crack; she could feel her hands start to shake. She saw Blake narrow his eyes in concern, and then he moved into step with her to offer support. She smiled gratefully at him as she took his arm, holding tight so he bore much of her weight, "Thank you for engineering that for me Blake. Is the motorcade ready? I want to go home." 

Blake stopped, which caused her to as well. She turned to look at him and saw his frown. "Ma'am. I didn't engineer anything. Dr. Talek is waiting for you in Mr. Jackson's office.”

It was her turn to frown. "But I thought you just said that to get me out of there. You know I don't like doctors Blake."

Blake shook his head. "No, Ma'am. You need to see a doctor." His voice was thick with determination and a hint of irritation.

She protested, "Blake I am not seeing a doctor. Now is the - " 

"No!" Blake interrupted. 

" _Blake_ \- "

Blake continued as if she’d not spoken, his voice climbing higher and higher in agitation. "No! You have to see the doctor." His hair was getting tangled in his fingers as he repeatedly ran one hand through it. "Damn it, can't you see yourself?" His eyes were frantically jumping over her body "You are covered in glass, and - and bruises a-a-and blood!" He held up his arms and hands. There were smears of blood, and she felt a lump in her throat. Whose blood was that? Oh. Oh my god, it was hers. "You need help mom, _Ma'am_ , please just let me help you! _Please_." His voice was pleading, his expressive eyes locked on her face. Begging her to let him help her. 

She swallowed. She has never seen Blake this agitated, this anxious. Not when he was her TA, not during the Great Pigeon Incident, never. Properly looking at him for the first time since setting foot into the oval office she saw smears of blood on his tux sleeves, on his arms where the sleeve rode up. There was blood on his hands, in his hair, and on streaks in the front of his shirt. He looked like he came out of a horror movie she would watch with her son, and if Blake looked like that from just touching her, what did _she_ look like?

She looked away from Blake's gaze to stare at her hands. There were little cuts up and down both palms, but what had caused the most bleeding was the gash on her left hand that ran from the base of her middle finger to just above her wrist. It was surprisingly deep, and she could see shards of glass embedded into it, although it was hard to see the individual pieces with how hard her hands were shaking. As she was focusing on it, she could start to feel small bouts of pain that were previously masked by her adrenaline. She must have been staring at her hands with unusual intensity because she didn't even notice her breaths coming out in sharp gasps. Blake put a firm hand on her arm, "Ma'am?" She jerked her head back to look at him. She tried to take deeper breaths and she gave him a wobbly smile, but the concerned expression on his face didn't abate.

She made an aborted motion to cover his hand with her own. "Okay, Blake. Let's go see the Doctor." His face cleared and suddenly she was looking into a gaze decades younger. She could see him as the small boy he once was, bright eyes shimmering, pleased to finally be heard. Blinking away the thought, she tried to shove her emotions back into the box. It wasn't as successful as before, but she would be damned if that white house doctor saw her cry. 

Blake was patient though, and when he saw that she was ready, offered his arm. She took it, leaning most of her weight up against him in a silent show of trust. He adjusted his body and wrapped an arm around her waist to take on the added weight, and they slowly made the ten-foot journey to Russell's door. Freeing one of his hands momentarily, he opened the door and led her inside.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Talek was a big man. In a way, he reminded her of Fred, a broad-shouldered black man with a serious expression and kind eyes. That was where the similarities ended though. Where Fred was lighter-skinned, Dr. Talek was ebony, and where Fred had brown eyes, Dr. Talek had bright blue. She gave the doctor a tight smile as Blake led her to the chair that was set up near the medical supplies. Blake lowered her in the chair and turned back towards the door. She momentarily panicked, thinking he was leaving, but all he did was shut the door and lock it. She gave him a relieved smile and turned back towards the doctor.

The doctor wasn't smiling though, he was frowning. "Sir, I have to examine my patient, I am going to have to ask you to leave."

She opened her mouth to protest. She didn't like to be talked over, but Blake cut her off with a snort.

"Doctor, if you want a cooperative patient you'll let me stay."

"And if you both want a job in the future, you will stop talking about me like I am not here."

They both stopped and stared at her. Blake looked unrepentant, and the doctor a little sheepish.

"I apologize Madam Secretary. Usually, my patients aren't comfortable with others in the exam room, that is obviously not the case. I must warn you though, from what your assistant has explained I will have to examine your back."

Elizabeth blinked at the doctor's explanation. Her back? And it was like a switch in her mind. She could suddenly feel all the aches and pains from when she made the sudden connection with the drink cart. The doctor was watching her face and nodded at what he saw. When her expression turned to confusion he said,

"I figured with the adrenaline coursing through your body it would take a while for you to feel pain."

Elizabeth nodded, "Blake, what exactly did you tell the doctor about what happened?"

She heard Blake move from behind her until he was on her right side and he gave her a significant look, "I told him that you fell against the drink cart in the Oval and that you might need stitches."

She looked at her assistant and heard what wasn't being said. It was her choice to tell the doctor more. He had just told him the bare minimum to get him to come with the correct medical supplies.

"Dr. Talek, can I count on your discretion?"

He looked a little offended, "Of course, Madam Secretary! I am the White House doctor, you shouldn't need to ask."

Feeling mollified, she told the doctor a heavily edited version of events.

"The President and I went back to the Oval Office to discuss some matters of state. I tripped over my dress and fell backward into the drink cart with some force. When I tried to get myself up I managed to cut myself with some glass." Noting the deep purple hand-shaped bruises forming on her forearms she added, " I have some… bad… experiences with shattering glass. There was a bit of a struggle when the President, and then Blake, tried to help me up."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blake start and give her an incredulous expression, which was quickly replaced with his usual mask of indifference when he noticed the doctor look at the both of them with deep skepticism.

"Are you sure that is what happened Madam Secretary? Mr. Moran?"

Blake shot him a challenging look, "Yes, Dr. Talek that is what she said. Do you need her to repeat herself?"

The doctor schooled his expression and shook his head, "Alright Madam Secretary. Let us begin with the exam. Did you hit your head?"

After he was done checking her for a concussion, he wanted to deal immediately with her hands. He cleaned the cuts and scrapes on both hands, and she winced as he plucked out the little shards of glass. She felt the comforting weight of Blake's hand on her shoulder as he wrapped her right hand, but she couldn't look away as the doctor prepped the needle for the lidocaine. She flinched as the needle pierced the skin of her left hand. There was a dull roar in her ears, and the longer she stared at her hands, the more it began to feel like they weren't hers. It was like she was watching someone else's hand get pierced with a needle and thread. If this wasn't her... Where was she? Where-

"Ma'am"

She blinked. It was Blake and he was talking to someone, but it wasn't her. She wasn't here. Where -

"Ma'am, I am going to take your right hand now." Her right hand? But she wasn't-

And she felt pressure. She looked down and saw Blake's hand delicately holding someone's right hand. She saw him squeeze the hand and … and she felt it. This was her. She was here. The words tasted like ash coming out of her mouth and the words sounded wrong but she wanted him to know she was here, "Blake."

He was looking at her with too soft eyes and he began to speak. He was talking about that woman from the ball, you know the one she saved him from? And as he continued the tale she never noticed the stitches being complete row by row.

"Madam Secretary."

Her attention was so firmly fixed on Blake that she jumped in her seat at the deep voice of Dr. Talek. She turned to her left and when the doctor saw that her attention was on him he continued.

"I finished with your hands, I need to check your back now. I have to ask, would you like your assistant to leave the room now?"

Her breath caught in her throat, Blake… leaving? He can't leave. He -

"That won't be necessary Dr. Talek. If you unzip the back of her dress I will hold it up to preserve her modesty."

But the words of her assistant didn't register in her mind. She didn't want to be alone, Blake couldn't leave, he couldn't-

And then Blake was in front of her. He was sitting in a chair directly in front of her, his legs on either side of hers.

"Ma'am, the doctor is going to unzip your dress now, I am going to hold the sides up. I need you to let me know if that is okay." She tried to answer but what left her lips was more of a wheeze. "It's okay, just shake your head yes or no, I'm going to be right here."

She nodded. And she felt cool fingers on her back. She didn't like it. It felt too exposing, it needed to stop. It -

She felt the legs on either side of her press against her thighs, hands on either side of her rib cage, holding up her dress. She looked up, it was Blake. He looked directly into her eyes, "I've got it, ma'am. It's just me and the Doctor. We trust him, right?"

Elizabeth was tired, and things weren't making sense. She trusted Blake and that was enough, she nodded and rested her head on Blake's shoulder. Her breathing eased. 

Feeling cool leather against her back, Elizabeth looked around. She was in the SUV. She didn't remember getting to the car, a fleeting memory at best of arms under her legs and around her back. She turned her head, "Blake, did you carry me?"

Blake looked at her from his position beside her, "No, Ma'am it was Matt. You kind of zoned out at the end and Dr. Talek didn't want you walking on your ankle."

Oh. She was just so _tired._ All she wanted to do was go home and curl up against her husband.

Her Husband. Henry. Oh god. Oh no. Was he called? What was she going to say? Her breathing got erratic, more panicked. _Ohnoohnohonoho……._

"Madam Secretary? Ma'am? Elizabeth!" Her name was sharper than the rest of her titles and she snapped her head to look at Blake. Her panic wasn't abating though and the only thing she was able to choke out was a pained, " _Henry."_

Blake looked startled, and then understanding at the name of her husband, "Ma'am, I will call Henry on the drive home, alright?" When he saw that his words had no effect on her, he gathered her into his arms and pulled her tight to his chest. The first ragged sob escaped her lips.

"Ma'am, it's okay. I'm right here, and soon so will Henry, I'll let him know what happened, alright? Just let it out, you're safe, it will be okay. It's okay." He was holding her tight to his chest, and the pressure calmed her down just enough to nod. She tried to calm down, stop the tears, but at his reiteration of "you're safe, it's okay" she finally believed it. She let herself go. All of the pain, and the confusion, and the fear. She let it all go and sobbed into her assistant, no her best friend's chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: If the description of panic attacks cause your own panic to rise, please skip this chapter.

  
  
Chapter 5

Blake POV

Blake waited for his boss’s breathing to even out before taking any further action. He needed his hands free to make phone calls, so he shifted his body so that he was reclined against the door. Now that she was resting against him, he pressed the button for the window and rolled it down just enough so the agents waiting outside could see his eyes. 

“Matt.”

Matt turned to look at him in question, “are we good to go?”

Blake sighed, “Yeah. Let’s stop by the Walgreens on the way to the house to pick up the pain meds. You’ll need to go in and get them. “

Matt nodded his agreement and after a flurry of motion the two agents got into the car and pulled out of the White House. Blake shifted Elizabeth's head so he could reach his phone. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. If he was honest with himself, he really didn't want to call Henry, but he knew it would be ten times worse to just show up at the brownstone with an injured Elizabeth. Unlocking his screen, his thumb hovered over the second person on his favorites list for just a moment before tapping the icon and putting the phone to his ear. The line rang three times before it connected.

_"Hey Blake! I'm guessing since you're calling, Elizabeth lost track of the amount of champagne flutes she grabbed again? Do we need to stage an intervention?"_

Blake could hear the humor in Henry's voice. They both knew that Elizabeth was usually responsible when it came to drinking at these events, but sometimes she could get sidetracked, and when she did the results were usually hilarious. Hearing the lightheartedness in Henry's voice caused Blake's heart to plummet and the words to get stuck in his throat.

"Uh.. Uhm Henry, something's- "

He heard Henry's voice harden _"Blake, what's wrong? What's happened? Is Elizabeth okay?"_

Blake could hear him moving as he said this, probably to turn on the news.

“Elizabeth will be fine, but sh-she’s been hurt. I-I got her to see the White House doctor before we left, but she’s mostly just drained from a panic attack. We-we’re on our way to pick up medication from the pharmacy, b-but I’ll need your help getting her out of the car.” 

_“Blake-!”_

But Blake didn’t have the energy to explain anymore. “Henry we will be home in 20 minutes. We’ll see you then.” 

Ending the call just then was probably cruel on his part, but he had been going full stop for what seemed like forever and he just didn’t have the strength at the moment for the rest of that phone call. He looked out the window, and let out a breath. Watching the landmarks go by was almost soothing, and for a moment he let himself forget. 

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Blake didn't remember getting to the pharmacy, let alone leaving it, but he was shaken out of his reverie by Frank.

"Blake, we are turning onto their street."

He lifted his head from the cool glass of the window and shot Frank what he hoped was a grateful smile. He looked down at the woman leaning against him. He didn't want to wake her up, but he knew it would be better to wake her now instead of when they were trying to move her. He rubbed her back, "Ma'am?"

She groaned and tried to bury her head into his chest but before he could say anything she froze. He felt her muscles tighten and her breathing start to quicken and Blake knew that if he didn't say anything _right this second_ he would be dealing with another panic attack.

"Ma'am. Elizabeth. It's me, Blake. We are in the car, pulling up to your house. Do you remember?"

He heard her let out a shaky sigh and he felt her try and pull away from him. 

"Wait, ma'am let me help you." She didn't respond verbally but she let him help put her in a seated position. 

Her voice was croaky when she spoke, "Henry?"

He looked out the window and saw a figure pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. He responded to her question as the figure got closer and the car slowed to a halt. 

"He's right here ma'am. Give me a second and he will be right next to you."

Blake pushed the door open at the same exact second Henry yanked at it. The result was the door flying open causing Blake to lose his balance and stumble out. He managed to catch himself and straighten up just in time to see Henry all but fly into the seat he just vacated. 

He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slightly on his heels. He knew it wasn’t cold outside, the rain coupled with the humidity almost guaranteed that but he couldn’t get warm. It was like the air conditioning of the SUV followed him to his position on the sidewalk. He avoided looking at the car, but let his eyes wander to give them some privacy. The agents securing the front of the house, the porch lights reflecting off the rain soaked ground. He snapped his head back towards the SUV when he heard Henry call his name. 

“Blake.” 

Once he was looking at him, he saw that Dr.McCord was standing in front of the open car door. 

“Yes sir?” He responded.

“Could you grab her things?” 

Blake stilled for a moment before nodding and walking towards the car that the couple had just vacated.

He had to step aside for Henry to step onto the sidewalk while cradling his wife, but in the next breath, he was leaning into the back of the SUV gathering her things.

Shoes? Check. Purse? Check. Shawl? Check. Medicine? Che- wait. Where were the pain meds? He ducked out of the SUV, arms full, ready to question Matt when he saw the man holding out a Walgreens paper bag. He balanced the rest of her things in his arms and grabbed the bag with a murmured, "thank you," and followed his boss into the house. 

The bright lights of the house momentarily blinded him, and his eyes adjusted in time to see Henry staring at him questioningly. Damn. He must have missed a question. 

"Sorry, Henry. Did you say something?"

Henry's face was already filled with worry and stress, so Blake missed the flash of concern that was aimed at him.

"Yeah, Blake, will you follow me up the stairs with her stuff?"

"Oh, uh, sure. Of Course." 

Blake scrambled to follow Henry up the stairs. His thoughts unconsciously mirrored what his boss had thought only an hour before. All he wanted to do was go home, take a shower, go to sleep, and forget. It was why he was so surprised for Henry to invite him up the stairs. If anything, he expected the man to be pissed at him for allowing his wife to get hurt on his watch. 

The made it up to the master bedroom without being waylaid by the McCord children, and Blake couldn't help but ask,

"Where are the kids? I kind of expected them to stop us before we made it this far." 

Henry, who was in the middle of placing Elizabeth on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom turned his head to answer, "Stevie is at Jareth's, and Ali and Jason are in their rooms. They are supposed to be sleeping but…"

Henry didn't even need to finish his sentence. It was only 11:30pm, he would bet his favorite pocketsquare that both of the younger McCords were on some type of device. 

Blake shifted anxiously. He didn't know what to do now. He was watching Henry murmur quietly to the Secretary, and he felt like an intruder. Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, he cleared his throat nervously,

"Uh, I'll just, uh put her stuff on the chair. The uh medicine is in the paper bag… so uh I'll just go? Uh, yeah. Bye."

With that, he turned towards the door only to be stopped by Henry's voice. 

"Blake, if you could wait for me to come back downstairs before you leave?"

He frowned. Henry should stay with the Secretary, but knowing the other man wouldn't accept any other answer, he nodded sharply and started down the stairs. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He took the back stairs into the kitchen. For a moment he stood completely still in the middle of the room. He didn't know what to do, what to think. He wanted to be literally anywhere else because he knew that a 6'1", pissed off, fully trained marine was about three seconds behind him. And… he couldn't find it in himself to be angry. It was his fault that the Secretary got hurt in the first place, and he deserved to be punished. Henry couldn't possibly be any worse than his own father… right? 

Blake inhaled sharply and he felt his throat start to constrict in panic. He bit his tongue and clenched his hands in an effort to stave it off. He exhaled sharply and looked down at his fists. His fists that were covered in blood. Elizabeth's blood. Oh no. He couldn't face him with blood on his hands! He would be so mad at the mess… 

Tripping over his feet in the haste to get to the sink before he could come downstairs, Blake turned the kitchen faucet as hot as it would go and grabbed the first thing in the sink to start scrubbing the blood off his hands. The water that flowed into the sink slowly turned pink and as he furiously scrubbed at his skin, he became almost hypnotized by the pink water swirling down the drain.

Blake was so absorbed in washing his hands that he didn't hear Henry coming down the stairs. He didn't hear him calling his name, and he definitely didn't hear him approach the sink to see what he was doing. What he did notice was his hands suddenly being wrenched from the water with such force that his entire body was forced in the same direction. Looking at the man in front of him, he didn't process that it was Henry until it was too late. With as much force as he could muster, he yanked his wrists from Henry's grasp, in the process losing his balance and falling to the floor. 

His ears were ringing and he couldn't hear the harsh words that were probably coming out of Henry's mouth and _oh my god_ he was coming closer. Blake found himself scrambling backwards until his back hit a wall. Heart in his throat he looked up at Henry. Henry was looking down at him with such concern that it stole his breath. Was he concerned for him? 

No. 

That's stupid.

Henry’s worried he woke up the kids…woke up _Elizabeth_. Stupid, stupid, stupid… His hands found his hair, and he pulled. 

"Stupid. So Stupid. I'm sorry. I failed. I didn't protect her. I'm a failure. Failure. I failed. So sorry. Hurt. Failed. Sorry. Failed…"

The words came out slurred, and if he didn't know better, he would've thought he'd somehow gotten drunk without knowing.

In the next breath his hands were being held tightly and he couldn't move. He thrashed, trying to pull away from whatever had seemingly come through the wall to grab him, but his hands were trapped against his chest. He jerked upwards, trying to get up, but he couldn't move. His breath was more erratic, and if he was more clear headed he would have been mortified at the tears streaming down his face. He threw his head back, and it connected against a broad chest. The grip on his hands lessened, but before he could try again there was an arm under his chin, and a palm to his cheek, restraining his head. 

He couldn't make out the nonsensical words streaming from Henry's mouth, but he wouldn’t trust it because he could never trust it. But… he was tiring quickly and just maybe? With one last jerk of his shoulders, he just… stopped. The grip didn't lessen, but now that he wasn't focused on getting away, he could actually make out the words.

"Shhh, Blake. It's okay, you're safe. You're okay. Shhhhh, son. It's okay. Lizzie is safe, you're safe. You're not a failure, you're so, so brave Blake. So brave. Shh. You're safe…

He had to believe... He released the tension in his body and sagged against Henry. He had to believe he was safe. Safe. He closed his eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blake didn't know how long they stayed in that position, but as his breathing started to even out he started to feel hot. Uncomfortably so. He was acutely aware of how much blood was on his clothes, and the familiar sensation of the walls closing in started to make itself known. But he'd already brought so much shame, and if he tried to move, it would make even more of a scene. So he gathered what little bit of dignity he had left, and in barely a whisper asked, "Henry, uh do you think you could let me go? I-I mean, i-it's starting to get so hot and and the walls, s-so _pleas_ e?"

The older man started to loosen his grip, but before Henry completely released him, he stopped. Blake froze. Of course there was a catch. How stup-

"-omise Blake? Blake?"

Huh? "Sorry?"

"It's okay Blake. Don’t apologize. I was only asking you to promise not to hurt yourself again if I let you go."

Hurt himself? He wasn't hurting himself. But if that is what it took to get Henry to let him go..

"I promise."

The arms that were restraining him disappeared and he scooted back several feet before he started taking off his jacket. He kept his gaze firmly on the floor as he discarded the jacket behind him. He started on the buttons of his shirt when he noticed his sleeves were wet. He vaguely remembered washing his hands, and he started fumbling with his cufflinks when gentle hands covered his own. He jerked both his hands back and his eyes up, only to find Henry with his hands up in the universal position of surrender. Henry must've saw that he had his attention because he gestured to the sleeves,

"Would you like help with that?"

Blake swallowed, but nodded. He held up his hands, and Henry took the cufflink and unbuttoned the sleeve of his left arm first, and then the right. He went to take the watch off, but stopped. Blake looked up and saw Henry looking at him.

Henry gestured to the watch. "May I?"

Blake felt stupid nodding again, but what was he supposed to say?

Once the watch was off, Blake wasted no time undoing his bowtie and the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He threw the pieces of clothing next to the jacket and looked up. It seems that Henry had grabbed a towel that was hanging on one of the cabinets and was gently dabbing the metal of the watch and the leather of its straps. He only repeated the gesture a couple of times before stretching up and depositing the watch, cufflinks, and tea towel on the counter above them. 

The two men sat across from each other on the kitchen floor for a couple of minutes, neither of them wanting to make the first move. Finally, Henry did by moving to lean his back against the wall that Blake was up against a few minutes ago. Once there, Henry patted the floor next to him. It would be a tight fit. Blake hesitated, but Henry only sat patiently with a calm expression. Blake didn't want to move, but he realized that he _did_ trust Henry on some level. Swallowing hard he moved to sit in the proffered spot. 

Shoulder to shoulder, the only sound in the kitchen was the hum of the refrigerator. He heard Henry sigh, and he turned his head to look at him. 

Henry was looking at him with an expression mixed with worry and confusion. "Son, what happened?"

Blake knew it was time to start talking. So he took a deep breath and began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals Week is over!! Well, it ended last week but who's counting? I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to have the next one up real soon.


End file.
